Sins Of The Father
by TitansGirl
Summary: Parents are supposed to save their children. But all Slade Wilson does is break them. Villain challenge; dedicated to Caprichoso; Slade/Rose father/daughter one-shot. Rated for slight graphicness.


**Author's Note: **Hello! :D So, this story is dedicated to Caprichoso, who gave me the fantastic villain challange. The prompt was this:

"Show an unexpected good side of a villain." And, Jinx was off-limits.

So, of course, I chose my all-time favorite baddie, mister Deathstroke the Terminator. Or, Slade, if we're talking television series, but...it's the same person, basically.

For this one, I did use ONLY comic-centrical plot points, considering not much about Slade is revealed on the TV show, and, um, I'm just in love with Deathstroke comics, because he's the worlds most favorite badass. Though, note, I did put this one in the 'cartoon' category, just to be consistant with my other stories, but, it truthfully is only a comic-related piece, considering his daughter isn't even in the show. So, yeah. My apologies for anyone who finds this confusing.

This is centered around the scene from the Teen Titans (3rd series) comics, Issue #12, where the whole eye-incident takes place. There's also a flashback to the debacle in Issue #72. In case you were, ya' know, wondering. Or something.

Alright, I'm just gonna get on with the story. I hope you all enjoy, and I hope I did the challenge justice! ^.^

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters mentioned in the following story.

**Warning: **It is gory. Not gonna lie to ya' folks, even *I* found it a bit disturbing to re-read, and, well, I'm a freak.

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Scarlet blood spattered along the floor of the room. Moonlight shone down on the two, highlighting their silhouetted forms against the darkness of the flickering candle flames. The silver locks of Slade Wilson's hair were clumped and matted with sweat from the battle, and as he ran a hand through them, the shining perfection of the gray was streaked with an ugly crimson. He reached down, unsure of his movements, hesitating as he never did before.

Rose Wilson was lying in a crumpled heap in front of him, puddles of liquid that almost seemed black in the shroud of the night already sliding down her face and pooling around her oval-shaped face. His daughter. She was his daughter, and she was damaged. So horribly broken that he couldn't stand it.

Fury and guilt twisted in his stomach as his eyes strayed to the slick silver katana the girl still held in her hand, white knuckles wrapped around it even in her descent into a mad unconsciousness. Her words rang in his mind, playing over and over like a haunting hallucination that wouldn't quit. He couldn't look at her face without seeing her perform the act repeatedly.

"_I'm just like you, Daddy. I'm just. Like. You." _

_And then, he watched in sickening shame as she drove the blade into her eye. She didn't scream, only a small squeal of unbelievable pain escaped her lips. She was his child, and would show no weakness to dishonor him, even then. Quickly she removed the blade and fell the floor on her hands and knees, blood immediately seeping from the wound and pouring onto the floor in a grotesque waterfall. Her head tilted up to look at him with a thousand emotions whirling at once, but only one was clear to him. _

_Pride. She was proud to be like her father. She wanted his approval more than anything in that moment, and Slade felt sick that it was more than he deserved. _

The hallucination cut off there, with Deathstroke grasping at his chest for more air. He had never been this weak before. He had slit men's throats, taken them away from their families and murdered in cold blood for money—but never had he been this unsure. His hand shook as he brought it down to cradle his daughter's face, blood covering his gloves, seeping through the fabric and staining his hands with the memory of this moment forever.

This was his fault, he knew. If only he had disappeared from her life completely. Staying near her was selfish. Injecting her with the serum that had driven him to the brink of insanity was a mistake. It was all his fault, and for once, he didn't have any idea how to fix it.

Pulling the girl closer to him, he took her small frame and placed it on his lap, drawing his arms around her lower back. He tugged her to his chest and cradled her, allowing an expression of obvious grief to taint his features. He was supposed to be an emotionless solider, but when his daughter was so broken, he could do nothing but feel the overwhelming need to hold her close.

A single tear fell down his cheek as he tilted Rose's face towards him, examining the void. It was empty of her eye, which was somewhere on the floor with the other various liquids that had spilled from the gushing wound she had cut.

Parents were supposed to save their children, not break them.

"_Just like you, daddy. I'm just like you. I'm just like daddy. Daddy, daddy, daddy…"_

Her words filled his mind and clouded his thoughts. He was no father. He wasn't worthy. Every instinct he had was honed to kill, sharpened to perfect apathy, and filled with an undeniable madness and irrefutable bloodlust. He was not trained to be a father, and nor did he want to be.

"Oh, God, Rose, what have you done?" He whispered harshly into her ear that was dotted with tortoiseshell patters of speckled blood. Raising his free arm, he smoothed her tangled silver hair back, trying futilely to wipe the crimson from the beautiful sparkling strands. "You don't want to be like me. You need to hate me, you should have always hated me just as much as I hate myself."

Slowly, he pulled her unconscious form from the floor into his arms. Blood dribbled from her cheek and onto the floor, dropping in small plops as he walked her to his study, placing her on his chair. He gazed at her uniform for a minute, noticing it was almost eerily spared of blood, and was once again taken off-guard by how insistent she was on being the Ravager, Deathstroke the Terminator's daughter. How much she wanted to be _his _child.

He walked to the bathroom, taking slow careful steps and pulled the towel hanging from the rack. He gazed at himself in the mirror while he ran it under cool water, rinsing his gloves free of Rose's stains in the process. His worn features were etched into his face like carvings in stone, making him seem so much older than he felt.

Lili had been right about him not being suited to be a father. He didn't have it in him to care about anyone but himself. As he walked back to the room where Rose was slumped over in his chair with some assorted supplies, he couldn't help but wish she was here. Wish that she could take the girl away to somewhere safe. To keep his daughter from him, the monster she should fear the most.

He crouched in front of the girl, wiping the washcloth over her cheeks, leaving them with the same pale sheen that she had before the incident. The action was almost gentle, something out of character for Slade. The cool water splashed over her thin nose, her one close-lidded eye, carefully arched brows, but he stopped just short of the wound that wouldn't stop seeping. Reaching beside him, he picked up a small piece of gauze he had retrieved from the bathroom and placed it carefully over the afflicted area. Her lips pursed slightly as he pressed the bandage to the void, trying not to dwell on the stark emptiness that was obvious. He had, of course, seen worse wounds than this. He had been through war, he fought selfishly for his country with all the lust he had in his reserves, blowing his gun off, knowing full well that he was taking the lives of men out there to do the same thing that he was. He had seen amputations, he had watched men bleed out on the front lines, and he had seen the terrors of plagues and sickness.

But none of those things mattered when it was his _daughter_ that was bloodied and broken in front of him.

Slade tried to play it off like it didn't matter, like he didn't care. He sure as hell wasn't flattered by the gesture, but the most stomach-churning fact about the matter was that he was proud. He was just as proud as Rose had been. His words before the incident had been so callous to her, so noncommittal and apathetic, and they stung. He had called her worthless, and a disgrace to his very he had turned and saw her proud stance with her katana raised high, for a moment he thought she was going to strike at him. But when she imbedded the blade in her own skull with such bravery and no hesitation, he couldn't help but find that madness attributed to his training. His daughter was certainly no weakling.

Trailing his finger along her cheek, he couldn't help but feel like she was so fragile she could break at any touch. Maybe _that _was the father in him reacting, because she could obviously handle much more than a simple touch from him. It was almost as though he felt like he was defiling her, corrupting her innocence with his very presence. He was a toxin, and he had spread to her already.

The beautiful angel had already been corrupted, and it was too late to change that fact.

He watched in silence with his hand placed softly on her knee as her lips pursed and opened slightly, her good eye twitching in pain as a quiet moan escaped her mouth.

"…daddy…" Came the whisper. It shook him to his very core. Everything about him felt numb when he felt like his hallucinations were coming true. There was the voice again in his head.

"_Just like you, daddy. I'm just. Like. You."_

He stood on shaking legs at once. All it took was her small unconscious murmur, and he had made up his mind. He walked to the mahogany desk in the back of the room as his expert ears picked up on the rain cascading down the windows outside. Thunder rumbled in the background as he unlocked the bottom drawer, grasping his treasure with inhuman care. It was a simple glass syringe, filled with the smallest vile of liquid imaginable, and a glinting needle to top it off. He flicked the top of it and placed it on the edge of the desk, leaning against the wood himself. He stood and studied his daughter, watching the pain transform her face.

"_Just like you."_

"You're not, Rose, but you will be. I'll transform you." He spoke softly so as not to disturb her already tortured rest. But when she awoke, to a whole new world of pain, she would live the Hell that he did. She wasn't just like her father, because the original Slade Wilson no longer existed. He was the harsh shell of a trained mercenary, and that man was rightfully her father. That was who she was going to be. He would make her cold, indifferent, and equally as powerful as he was.

That was his gift to her, the best he could offer her as a father, because he had nothing else left to give.

A slight quirk of his lips admitted a smile to Deathstroke's face as he realized maybe all wasn't hopeless, after all.

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**A/N: **Um, yeah, so...kinda gross, right? Sorry! I don't even know, it was all just *GAH GAH SQEE, ADD MORE BLOOD* and then, this happened. But I tried my very hardest to convey a different side to Deathstroke. He's a cold calculating mercenary who can't afford to care about anyone but himself, especially a daughter. But, she's just so cute, and she tries so, so hard to make him approve of her, and I have this fantasy that one day she'll call him 'daddy' like she always does, and he'll smile at her and give her a big ol' Deathstroke hug!

...Though, the probabilty of that happening seems unlikely, if not downright impossible. But, hey, I can hope...

Well, gosh, I'm terribly sorry for all my rambling, and my constant apologizing. And of course reviews are not mandatory, but are always sincerely appreciated. :)

Thank you for reading!


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